


I hear babies cry

by Eat0crow



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types
Genre: Camp Half-Blood is fucking Narnia, Gen, It's been a decade and I still have feelings about Luke Castellan, Percy Jackson Big Bang 2020, Post-HoO, Pre-Relationship, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eat0crow/pseuds/Eat0crow
Summary: Percy's not adjusting well after the war. No matter what he tries, Camp Half-Blood just feelswrong. So, he decides to take off. Nico goes along for the ride.
Relationships: Nico di Angelo & Percy Jackson
Comments: 8
Kudos: 113
Collections: PJO/HOO Big Bang 2020





	I hear babies cry

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this was a 37k one-shot, but my hard drive crashed a week before my posting date, and I could only recover the first 7k. I'm sorry about the pacing toward the end, I didn't have enough time to rewrite the entirety of the original story, so I scrapped the middle and the ending and tried to make something that would kinda make sense and include the two amazing art pieces made for this fic.
> 
> Sorry, it's abrupt. 
> 
> I will be finishing up the original, there was just no way for me to cram three months worth of work into a week.

For the first time in six years, returning to Camp Half-Blood doesn’t feel like coming home.

Percy can’t help but feeling like a stranger, an outsider looking in as he walks through the grounds. Everything’s changed in the past year he’s been gone. He does his best to ignore the whispers that follow him as he moves, the way people stare, and flinch when he gets to close.

Percy gets it, he does, even it hurts.

The truth is war’s the easy part.

What’s hard is moving on.

* * *

When Nico finds him, Percy’s neck-deep in the lake, trying his best to get his breathing under control. His footsteps are deliberately loud, well, by Nico’s standards, which is nearly silent by everyone else’s. If it wasn’t for the fact that Percy’s on high alert, restless energy coiled tight and _waiting_ , he still probably wouldn’t have noticed him.

Luckily, he did, because it takes almost all his concentration to keep the water where it is and _not_ curling around Nico’s throat. His hands itch, fingers curling into talons with the effort. These days, it’s second nature for the water to respond to his emotions.

Frankly, it’s a good thing it’s getting late, and everyone else is off at dinner.

Nico stops short of the lake’s edge. He awkwardly shuffles his feet, taking in Percy’s posture, his tensed shoulders, and clenched hands. “I thought I’d find you out here.” There’s a pause, heavy and weighted. “I heard about you and Annabeth.”

Nico doesn’t bother to ask if Percy’s okay. They both know he’s not.

No matter how hard he tries, there’s no escaping the fact that he’s spent every summer since he was twelve fighting for his life. He can’t just lock away what feels like a lifetime's worth of instincts and memories and pretend that everything is perfect, that _he’s_ perfect.

The reality is, fighting’s the easy part. It’s picking up your life after everything is over that’s impossible. _And maybe_ , a bitter voice in the back of Percy’s mind whispers, treacherous and so painfully like Luke, _that’s why no one tells you_.

“It’s for the best,” Percy says simply.

It’s better, _healthier_ , for both of them, that Annabeth ended things. A war, a kidnapping, a trip through Tartarus, and oh, yeah, another war, is more than any relationship can hope to survive.

Percy understands that. They still love each other, because they always will. Percy can’t imagine _not_. Which is why, if Percy’s being honest with himself, he’s relieved this happened now—when he still has the chance to learn to love her differently.

She’s his best friend, his _person_. Nothing can ever hope to change that. It’s just—he and Annie have too much emotional baggage built between them to anything other than a co-dependent nightmare.

“Yeah,” Nico agrees, kicking at the grass by his feet. “It still sucks, though.”

Percy hums, partially in agreement, partially in acknowledgment. He starts moving toward the shore, and Nico moves back to give him space.

“It does,” Percy admits. Understanding does nothing to take away the ache. His heart hurts for a lot of different reasons, the breakup is only the most recent. “Just like everything else. I’ll get over it.”

“You will.” Nico nods, his eyes fixed on the space above Percy’s head. “But you don’t have to—right away—you do, have to get over it, I mean—” Nico whines, interrupting himself, high pitched and loud like he’s allergic to the emotions in the air. He looks away, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Hades, I’m _really_ not the person for this. What I’m trying to say is, it’s okay...if you’re not okay.”

“Thanks, Nico,” Percy says, and he means it.

“Yeah, well, whatever. I’m here for you, we all are. If you want to talk and need someone to listen…”

The ending is implied. If he wants to talk, Nico’s here and he’ll listen.

Percy looks at Nico and remembers standing on a different shore with him. For a second, the water behind them isn’t a lake, it’s a river. He’s not surprised when the offer doesn’t chafe him the same way everyone else’s does. When he looks at Nico, red-faced, and pointedly meeting his eyes, like doing so will make him break out in hives, Percy realizes that he _wants_ to talk.

Because, despite Percy never having done anything to deserve it, Nico’s always given his unflinching support. Even when it hurt him.

“It’s just,” Percy starts, voice silted. Nico jolts in surprise like he hadn’t expected Percy to take him up on it, _to trust him_. “The war is over, and that was supposed to be the end of it, right? Defeat the Earth Mother and everything’s over, only—I don’t feel like anything’s done. I still feel the same.”

“I get it,” Nico says, rubbing his arm like he’s trying to chase the cold out of his bones. He doesn’t need to, even in his T-Shirt, the early, June air is warm. “The pit...it’s not something you just wake-up and forget, it sticks.

Percy’s eyes focus on the scars running up along Nico’s arms, clean parallel lines, perfectly spaced, and wonders, not for the first time, what Nico’s done to deal with it—all of it.

“It’s been a year.”

“It’s _almost_ been a year. Hell lasts longer than a three day weekend.”

“I know,” Percy says, almost guiltily. He knows that healing takes time, that it takes work and effort, but—“I...thought I’d be better by now.”

“You are better,” Nico points out.

Physically? Sure, he’s made a full recovery. Emotionally? Percy’s biggest accomplishment is not freezing every time he goes deeper than his chest in water, and that’s taken four months of exposure therapy.

“Not enough.” He _still_ can’t fully submerge himself without a panic attack. “I should be over it by now. Everyone else is; Jason, Piper, Frank, Reyna, fuck, even Annabeth, they’ve all moved on and I’m just—”

“Out of place,” Nico supplies.

“Yeah, I’m—I talked to Luke about this. Once,” Percy says, his voice low, fervent, like he’s confessing a secret, and maybe, in a way, he is.

Percy never told anyone what he and Luke had talked about before the latter summoned the pit scorpions and tried to kill him. It wasn’t important, not when there was still a possibility of stopping Kronos from reforming, and especially not once he actually did.

Nico stiffens, his spine going rigid.

Nico didn’t know Luke, he spied on him, but he never knew him. Not like the other campers, and certainly not the way Percy did—as the boy, desperate and bitter and _scared_. He understands why Nico looks weary when he asks, “You did?”

Percy nods, jerking his head in the direction of the woods. Toward the path Luke led him down and one of the first places he almost died. It says something, that Percy’s lost count of all the spots that could have been his deathbed.

Percy takes a step back. He's not in the water, but he’s not really on the shore. He’s standing firmly at the in-between point. It’s a ridiculously soothing place to be.

“When I came back, after my first quest, I expected everything to make sense. I thought if I returned the lightning bolt, if I got my mom back, everything would go back to normal. Like returning the fucking thing would solve all my problems.” Percy scoffs. “It didn’t, obviously. I told Luke how I felt. And, _he got it_. His quest, he thought it would be the most important thing to ever happen to him, it was, just not the way he expected.”

Nico twists the ring on his right hand, a nervous habit. The skull spins, glinting silver in the low light.

“Luke said he came back changed, and Camp was exactly the same. He...couldn’t deal with it.”

“And, you don’t think you can?” Nico asks softly. He doesn’t sound judgemental.

“Nico.” Percy’s voice is barely more than a whisper, the water unnaturally still behind him—dead. “I don’t want to be Luke.”

“You’ll never be Luke,” Nico says fiercely, grabbing Percy by the shoulder and forcing him to stumble back. Further into the water, further away from the woods and—

The water comes up to meet them, Percy’s reflexes keeping them mostly upright. Mostly, because the force of Nico’s lunge made both of them lose their footing. The water’s holding him, and he’s holding Nico—who’s clinging tightly to his chest, desperate for Percy to understand him and panicked that he won’t.

Percy thinks that, despite what Nico’s saying, he knows how easy it would be for Percy to follow in Luke’s footsteps.

To be the next monster they face.

He straightens his spine, easing the water back as he takes Nico’s weight more firmly into his arms, holding both of them upright. Finding traction is a bit difficult. The lake has a mud bottom that’s loosely packed and easily disturbed. Still, he manages after a bit of shifting. Firmly digging his feet into the floor, until he feels less like he’ll fall over the second.

Part of him thinks it would be funny if they both went toppling over, because there’s no way Nico would look like anything other than a drowned cat, and Percy knows he’d hiss at him, too.

But...being in another god’s domain is an incredibly vulnerable position, and Nico’s practically up to his waist in water. His face is hidden firmly against the side of Percy’s neck, his breath coming out in soft pants. Percy can feel the tension in his muscles.

He’s not going to break the trust Nico’s giving him.

“I’m scared,” Percy says, tasting the words and realizing how true they are. Subconsciously, he tightens his hold on Nico’s shoulders, bringing him closer and savoring the warmth. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud. He means it. “I’m terrified. Because the longer I stay here, the more I understand him, and—”

“Let’s leave,” Nico interrupts, fingers curling around the fabric of Percy’s shirt, his words coming out muffled as he digs his too pointy chin further into his throat. It tickles. “If staying here’s the problem then—let’s go.”

Pulling back—not far, enough for him to be able to see Nico, to meet his eyes, and still have his fingers scrunching the fabric by his shoulder—Percy’s not sure he understands. Not really. He takes a deep breath, sagging when he lets it out. It leaves him feeling weary and a little numb. Like he let out all his energy.

“Where?”

“Somewhere—anywhere. Let’s just get out of here,” Nico says frantically.

Slowly, Nico takes a step back, one, then another, and another, until only his toes are still in the water. There’s a good six feet between them. Around him, the shadows thicken, pooling at his feet. Dripping, heavy and toxic, off his ankles—stopping just short of the lake’s edge.

Percy knows, at that moment, when Nico extends his hand, palm up and open, fingers grasping, reaching out, ready to pull up, onto shore into the shadows—he’s serious. He’s not joking. Nico is ready and willing, fully prepared to drop everything and spirit Percy away without looking back.

If he takes Nico’s hand...they’ll be miles away before anyone notices they’re missing. Nico’s offering Percy the chance to disappear and not look back.

Selfishly...Percy wants to take Nico’s hand.

Before he can stop himself, Percy’s moving forward. Closing the gap between them, hand outstretched and ready and—

But...

He stops himself two feet from where Nico’s standing, inches away from where the shadows start to thicken and the air starts to hiss. He drops his hand back down to his side.

“I can’t.”

* * *

Right?

The thing is, Percy has a duty to Camp Half-Blood. He owes this place a debt for being his home, even if now the grounds feel more like a cage, and repaying it kills him. Just a little. Piece by piece. He has responsibilities.

Or, at least he did.

Walking into the Pavilion, Percy does his best to ignore the whispers that break out as soon as he enters. He’s happy to pretend that everyone’s staring at him because he’s a little late—thirty minutes—and not because this is the first time since last summer anyone aside from Annabeth has seen him.

Percy hadn’t bothered to keep in touch.

Not even with the other seven. Things had been…too fresh. They’d been too new.

He makes his way over to where Annabeth is eating with Jason and Piper.

Mixed tables are the absolute _best_ change that’s happened at Camp. Sure, breaking tradition might aggravate Chiron, but with everyone doing it, it’s impossible to stop. Percy’s thankful he doesn’t have to eat alone anymore. He wouldn’t be able to do it. Not now.

It’s probably weird, though. To hang around your ex-girlfriend hours after breaking up, but they’ve always been a little strange.

Okay, _a lot_ strange.

The point still stands. It would be _weirder_ for them to try and pretend the other didn’t exist. Not to mention _wrong_. So what if they didn’t work out romantically. They’re more than friends, more than family, they’re a part of each other.

“Hey,” Percy says, sitting down in the empty seat next to Annabeth.

Annabeth doesn’t startle, doesn’t tense. They’ve lived in each other's pocket for too long. She just leans into his shoulder and slides him a plate. He takes it gratefully, scrapping half of it into the fire without thought. Percy’s not picky, so he doesn’t bother to register what exactly he’s eating. Something with lots of vegetables. Vegan? Maybe.

Pointedly, Percy doesn’t acknowledge the hole Nico’s trying his best to turn into the side of his face. He’s sitting next to Will Solace, three tables down, and watching. If he ignores it, eventually, Nico will figure out that it’s not working, and will try to find another way to make Percy spontaneously combust. He’s already off to a good start.

And, considering Will looks three minutes away from dousing Percy in gasoline and taking a match to him...he’ll have help, too. For a healer, Will’s _scary_. And, that’s ignoring the rumors. Cecil from the Hermes cabin _swears_ he uses curses.

Percy prefers not to be stuck speaking only in haiku for the month.

“Hey.” Jason sounds awkward. Like he doesn’t quite know how to interact with single-struggling-to-adjust him. That makes two of them. He shares a look with Piper. There’s a funny expression on both their faces and Percy realizes that he doesn’t actually know either of them, not really, not well. And they certainly don’t know him either. Aside from the quest...neither of them ever knew him or Annabeth pre-relationship. They don’t get that this is how they are. Tentatively, Jason asks, “How have you been?”

“Good.” The lie tastes bitter in his mouth. Sliding off his tongue the same way the smile—the one he’s spent hours meticulously practicing in the mirror—slips across his face. “How about you guys? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

Nodding, Jason says, “We just got in from New Rome.”

As if geography is the only reason they haven’t spoken in nine months. Percy decides that if Jason’s nice enough to pretend his complete radio silence never happened, well, the least he can do is ignore Jason’s awkwardness.

Piper’s quick to follow Jason’s lead in ignoring the weird-dating-not-dating dynamic, by leaning across the table and excitedly sliding a folder across to him. “We’re here to try and set up a new lesson plan for the campers. Something similar to New Rome. Less...do-this-or-die and more structure.”

Jason chokes on his drink, wheezing as he coughs. If Percy wanted to, he could reach out right now and steal the liquid from Jason's lungs. He won’t, though, because that’s not something you do without permission unless someones dying, and Jason’s not.

There’s a loud crack as Piper slaps his back. Annabeth winces. Jason wheezes, less from the swallowing wrong, more from the sheer force of Pipers hit. It takes a few more seconds for him to get his breathing under control. When he does, Jason elbows Piper in the side, shaking his head, and she freezes—eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. Or a girl caught sharing a secret she shouldn’t have.

They’re really obvious, and Percy wants to tell them that because he has no clue how either of them has survived this long without a halfway decent poker face. But, he’s being nice.

Pushing his plate aside, he picks up the folder, opening it. Inside is filled with papers. From course lists to syllabuses, there are overviews for practically every conceivable aspect of demi-god training. Even charts on formations and strategies, he’s _surprised_ the Romans willingly shared this.

Especially considering they don’t have anything similar to offer in return.

Camp Half-Blood isn’t New Rome. It’s not meant to be as permanent. They’ll never be a legion, even with this stuff. Fundamentally, they’re too different. Narnia vs Neverland. Or something equally as permanent. Lothlórien?

So, maybe Renya is more worried about _giving_ half-bloods the tools they need to survive, than how they’ll use them.

Annabeth peaks over his shoulder, and he adjusts his grip so she can get a better look. She lets out a hum of approval, reaching over and stealing the leaflet labeled _Introductory Strategy Revision Six_. From the intensity in her eyes, revision seven will be done by tomorrow morning.

Piper’s face is more than a little funny now. It makes Percy feel bad that he doesn’t have to pretend to laugh. “Yeah? Tell me about it?”

Expression torn, she worries her lip, clearly unsure if telling is something she _should_ do. There’s an expectant look in her eyes, like she is waiting for him to ask why he’s not being included in the lesson planning. Technically, as the sword instructor, Percy should be. He had been every summer since he took over from Luke.

Being excluded doesn’t surprise him, though. He figured something was up earlier, when he’d gone to the pit to start setting up and found Clarisse already there with a rack full of gleaming blades behind her. It’s for the best, the same way his and Annabeth’s breakup is for the best.

Besides, Percy has never spent an _entire_ summer at Camp Half-Blood. Usually, he spends the majority of his summer being the gods clean-up crew, so…it’s not like he was ever the instructor in anything but name.

Instead of asking why, Percy pulls out a piece of paper about battle formations, shaking his head. They’ll never be able to implement any of these. They’re good, genius. But, Percy knows his people, and he knows this isn’t their way.

Piper lets the silence go on for another minute. Waiting for Percy to pull out another paper—this time on mandatory lessons, and, wow, healing really should be required. How has Percy never been formally taught first aid? A better question, how hasn’t improper wound care been the thing to kill him? He’s been stabbed with more than enough rusty blade by now to more than justify losing an arm to staph.—before tentatively breaking the silence.

She studies his face every third line, like she expects to step on landmine somewhere between figuring out the most common gaps the campers have in their learn-as-you-stab knowledge and standardizing a curriculum. Gradually, she loses her nerves as she gets more and more excited. Her voice getting louder as she talks about the complete overhaul she and Jason are launching, starting with the head counselor. Percy’s relieved that while, yes, he is head counselor of the Poseidon cabin, he has no siblings to council, and is therefore exempt from Piper’s inquisition.

Empathy training sounds...too gooey.

By the middle of her rant about the necessity of getting the campers to start planning for the future, because— _“Come on, it’s just depressing to assume you’ll die before you’re thirty so, nothing you do matters.”_ —Jason’s stopped nervously stabbing his food, and has perked up.

Apparently, he has a lot of feelings about Camp Half-Blood’s total lack of adults. Percy wonders if anyone explained to him why there isn’t anyone older than seventeen around. Probably not. He doesn’t sound like he understands that greek demi-gods are cursed to kill monsters until the monsters kill them, in a way the Roman’s _aren’t_. Which is okay. Percy didn’t, either.

Not until he watched Beckendorf die.

The fates are cruel and the gods are bored. Without _something_ , they’ll only end up killing each other.

The look gives him, as she closes the pamphlet, putting it down and pushing it away, tells him she knows that, too.

* * *

“What the absolute fuck, Jackson,” Will Solace says, digging his dagger into Percy’s throat.

“Honestly,” Percy says, swallowing against the blade, he feels the edge bite into his skin. “I’d like to know the same thing.”

Percy doesn’t understand why Will pulled him _by the ear_ into the woods after dinner. He hasn’t done anything to deserve this. Right? He’s _fairly_ sure he hasn’t.

But then again…

Well, he has a habit of pissing people off. It’s a talent.

Will tightens his grip on the hilt, inadvertently—or purposefully, it’s hard to tell with the murderous fury burning in his eyes—pressing the blade further into Percy’s throat. Not enough to actually hurt, but enough for him to feel the itch of blood sliding down his throat.

Blood’s gross.

Careful to keep his breathing even, Percy concentrates on staying calm. If it comes down to fight, he can use the blood steadily pooling in the crevices of his collar bone. He’s not worried, despite how good Will is, he’s a medic first and a long-distance fighter second. Percy outclasses him by miles in hand-to-hand.

Will realizes that, too. If only by Percy’s complete lack of reaction, the ease he has at having a blade against his throat. It throws Will off, makes him unsteady, and Percy’s impressed that he’s still trying to be intimidating. He gets points for effort, even though the effect is ruined by all the holes in his stance. “I don’t know what kind of game you're playing at, Jackson—”

“That makes two of us,” Percy says, breezily, interrupting Will, who takes the opportunity to shoot him a look that’s positively venomous. Medusas could take notes.

“But,” Will says, carrying on as if Percy hadn’t said a thing. “If you hurt him, any more than you’ve _already_ hurt him, I’ll make whatever Tartarus threw at you look like a cakewalk. And this time,” Will lowers his voice, and the dark edge that takes over clashes horribly with the image of a Son of Apollo, “Even Chase won’t be able to bail your ass out.”

Threats are a lot less _threatening_ without context. Will’s is good, but it has so many gaps it leaves Percy confused instead of scared. Because the thing is, Percy’s hurt a lot of people. He knows that and regrets most of it. But, unless Will is going to be a little more specific, there isn’t anything he can do.

The part that bothers him isn’t the implied torture. A lot of Percy’s friends have promised the same thing. Percy scowls, crossing his arms, Will isn’t his friend, though. “What does Annabeth have to do with this?”

Will gulps and takes a step back. Hesitating before taking the dagger away from his throat. For a healer, he seems to take particular glee in making Percy bleed. “What doesn’t she have to do with it?”

“Yeah, no,” Percy says, lunging forward and grabbing Will’s wrist. In one fluid motion, he switches places, pinning Will’s wrist above his head and kicking the dagger away the second it hits the floor. “Cut the cryptic shit, it’s not going to work. I get it if you hate me or blame me or whatever. But, if you have a problem with me, you leave my friends out of it.”

After he defeated Kronos, and even before then, but definitely after, Percy started noticing the number of people that absolutely despise him. The reasons are mixed, and he’s come to accept that sometimes these people just need to vent, and they do that by trying to kill him.

He can’t help but wonder what Will’s reason is. Most of the demi-gods who blame him for defeating Kronos, would sooner die then step one foot into camp. Those who are here usually avoid Percy. Will could have lost someone, but he’s using the present tense.

“You’re damn right I hate you, how can you be this blind?” Will spits, struggling in vain to yank his wrist free.

“You’d be surprised,” Percy says, absently. He knows he’s a bit oblivious, but he can hardly help it if his brain is stuck in fight-no-flight-was-never-an-option mode, and prioritizes different things.“You’re going to have to use specifics. I’m blind, remember? Spell it out for me.”

“Like Hades, I’m going to—”

“Tell me exactly who I’ve hurt and how, so I can fix this?” Percy asks, staring Will down. He shivers, and Percy realizes that _scaring_ him. He always forgets the effect he has on people. As an apology, he lets go of Will’s wrist, stepping back as Will rubs the circulation back into them. “I know this might be hard to believe, but I’ve never meant to hurt anyone, and I’m sorry if I have. But, I can’t do anything unless you explain.”

Even to his own ears, his voice sounds tired.

Will stares at him, like Percy’s a textbook he’s searching for typos the editor forgot in. He must find them, because his eyes widen, and his voice loses the last bits of rage. It’s replaced by pure disbelief. “You really don’t have a clue, do you?

“No,” Percy sighs. “Usually when people drag me off into a dark corner and try to kill me, they tell me who they’re avenging. You’re doing it wrong.”

“You’re kidding,” Will deadpans.

“Seventy-eight people have threatened to kill me here—not including my friends—and you're the only one who hasn’t explicitly told why. Clearly, you’re the one not following the script.”

“Here as in…”

“Camp Half-Blood.” Forcing his voice to excrete as much false cheer as possible he continues, “But, if you want, we can walk a little further south, and then you can share a spot with Luke. I mean, he didn’t threaten me, but he did try to kill me, so it counts.”

There’s a moment of silence as Will looks at him, horrified. “You’re...really screwed up, Jackson.”

“I know,” Percy says without hesitating, “I know.”

Will makes a frustrated sound, tearing at his hair. “How can you be such a bastard and still look like I'm the one who just murdered your puppy. It’s not fair.”

“I didn’t...hurt your dog, did I?” Percy asks, tentatively. He can’t remember having seen any around aside from Mrs. O’leary, and she’s his.

“No, Jackass, you didn’t hurt my dog.” Will starts pacing, like the momentum will help with whatever internal conflict he's currently having. Percy watches him, it’s hard to predict people when they have an existential crisis.

“Oh, that’s goods…”

“Gods,” Will groans. He sounds like he’s in physical pain, and Percy almost feels bad, but his neck is still bleeding. “I can’t do this if you’re going to be this pathetic. Listen, I still hate you, but for some _inexplicable_ reason, Nico doesn’t. I meant what I said. He’s been through enough without you adding to it. You hurt him, I’ll hurt you.”

After he’s finished, Will walks away. He doesn’t look back

* * *

Percy wakes up, half in a panic, to the sound of thunder and the flash of lightning outside his window. For a second, he’s frozen, he can’t move, anxiety over something trapping him in place. What, he can’t—he doesn’t—just _something_.

He doesn’t know what it is beyond a nagging feeling that leaves him restless and breathless and—

It’s awful, his heart’s pounding out of his chest, and the rooms spinning. Fast, fast, _faster_. Too much and not enough. He feels like he’s dying, the walls are getting closer and the shadows getting bigger. His blanket, too heavy and wrong, wrong, _wrong_.

He needs to get out of here.

He _needs_ to leave.

Right now.

Right this second.

He needs—

Distantly, Percy realizes that this is a panic attack. But, the realization feels foreign, clinical, detached. His body doesn’t feel like his right now. He doesn't feel like he’s _in_ it. Staring up at the ceiling, Percy focuses on counting, using the wood grain to ground himself back into his body.

It’s hard. At first, he fails. Gasping for air in big gulps that make him feel like he’s drowning all over again. _Part of him wishes he was_.

Somewhere between two hundred and sixty and the seventh board, his breathing came back under control, and his heart stopped trying to slip through his ribs. He’s tired. It feels like hours have gone by, but the clock on his bedside table says it’s only been ten minutes.

Rolling to his knees, Percy forces himself out of bed. Even if he tries, he won’t be able to go back to sleep. The itch is still under his skin. Going to the fountain, he washes his face, trying to scrub the restless energy out of his bones.

Of course, it doesn’t work. Percy’s not surprised. It’s been building all week, right alongside the realization that he doesn’t belong here anymore.

That no matter how hard he tries— and Percy’s tried _so hard_ —Camp Half-Blood will never be his home again. The magic is gone, no matter what he does, no matter who he reconnects with, life here will always go on around Percy.

He’s the piece that doesn’t fit.

So, why should he stay?

Percy looks in the mirror and flinches at what he sees. At the bags under his eyes. At his pale skin and hollow cheeks and—he realizes that he doesn’t _want_ to be here anymore. _He can leave, right now_.

It’s true. He could. All he has to do is get dressed and walk out the door. There isn’t anything here he couldn’t go without, just a few pieces of clothes and his wallet, things that are easily replaced. He’s confident that he can move faster than anyone in camp. Most of his summers were spent on the run, he’s hardly out of practice. Besides, it’ll be hours, maybe even days, before anyone notices he’s gone. By then Percy could put a good amount of distance between them.

He wants to leave, just not alone. He won’t make it alone. His throat feels raw from sucking too much air in too fast, and his hands are still shaky. Percy clenches them and plops back down on his bed, sitting up and staring into space. Next to him, a small black shape catches his eye from the dresser.

Cabin three has always been sparsely decorated—Percy’s never had the time, or the interest in changing that. There’s a fountain, six unused bunks, and a dresser pushed against the wall by the bathroom. Percy rises to his feet, feeling stupid for sitting down just to get back up, and walks over to the dresser.

A small plastic Hades statue stares at him, as he picks it up. It’s coated in a layer of dust thick enough to feel sticky on his fingers. A sign of abandonment so clear it makes Percy want to scream. How could he have forgotten that Nico’s felt this way forever? That he gave this to him, because he couldn’t stay. Because he didn’t belong here either.

That Nico offered out his hand and said, _let’s go_.

Nico will go with him, Percy’s certain. He offered, and he’s never once said anything that he hasn’t meant. Percy might not deserve anything Nico’s done for him, but he still offered.

Percy reaches down, and grabs the first things his hands land on—a pair of dark jeans and a blue t-shirt. It’ll work. He doesn’t bother to pack anything, that feels final in a way that he’s not ready for yet.

Someday, not today.

Leaning against the wall under his bed is the quest bag Percy started packing after his third summer here, when he realized that it’s better to be prepared for whatever life or death quests that inevitably came each summer, and that having a pack ready really cuts down on the possibility of forgetting important things. Like your wallet. Or your underwear. The pack hasn’t been touched in two years. Since he hasn’t grown that much he thinks it’s fine.

Outside is utterly disgusting. It’s the middle of the night—early morning—pitch black, and raining worse than the state of Florida. Which means no one is at their windows, much less outside. Percy doesn’t have to sneak out, he just walks through his door, and keeps walking. Past the Athena’s cabin, past Hermes’, right to cabin thirteen.

Not bothering to stay quiet, Percy bangs on the door. Loud and fast, over and over again. Until he hears a crash, followed by muffled cursing.

Nico yanks open the door, stumbling forward, sword first and half asleep. Percy takes a step back, just to be safe. Black eyes settle on him a moment later, blinking in surprise. “The fuck, Percy, it’s three in the gods damn morning. You better have a—”

“Did you mean it?” Percy asks, cutting Nico off mid-sentence. He must hear the urgency in Percy’s voice, the fragile, nervous energy that dragged him out of bed and here, because he doesn’t look angry, just confused. “When you said we could get out of here.”

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Nico hesitates, wavers. He’s looking anywhere but at Percy. With a deep breath, visibly steeling himself, Nico says, “ _Yes_.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Percy says, tentatively, “I wasn’t ready to take your hand, last week. But, if you’re still serious, I’m ready to go.”

For a moment, Nico stares at him, completely stunned like he’s at a loss for words and doesn’t know if he’s still dreaming. Then slowly, he narrows his eyes and leans heavily against the door frame. “Like...right now?”

“Yeah, right now.” Percy forces the words out from behind the lump that’s formed inside his throat. This is really happening. Somehow he feels as if he’s eleven again, fresh-faced and heading out on a quest for the first time.

It’s the same, in a lot of ways. Because once he leaves, this chapter of his life will be over. He’ll be starting a brand new one, just like he did when he went out to find the master bolt. Hopefully, this time, there will be less godly interference. He doubts it, though, so he won’t hold his breath.

“Okay,” Nico whispers, wetting his lips, and Percy can't tell if it’s meant for him, or if Nico’s just saying it to reassure himself. “Okay. Give me—give me a minute, to grab my stuff, then we’ll leave.”

There’s a long pause, as Nico goes to grab his pack. Percy waits for him outside. The rain doesn’t bother him, after all, and...it seems rude to enter another god’s cabin when he hasn’t been explicitly invited inside. Hades has never been his biggest fan, he doesn’t need any more reasons to want to imprison him in the underworld.

“You have friends here, you’d have a family if you stayed,” Percy points out, the second he sees Nico face peak back out of the doorway. It doesn’t feel fair for him not to acknowledge that, to give Nico a reason to stay, instead of just demanding that he leave.

He deserves an out, even if Percy doesn’t want him to take it.

Nico pauses on the steps, stills, with his eyes fixed firmly on the woods, toward the lake where they talked last time. “You already have family here. People who love you and will miss and want to help.”

“I know,” Percy says, instantly. “And, I love them, too.”

“But…”

“It’s not enough.

* * *

Percy has Nico shadow travel them to the middle of nowhere Illinois.

His memory, and by default, his directions were hazy. So they have to walk through a cornfield to get to the lot Percy remembers from last year. Luckily, it’s not raining in Illinois. Instead, the air is sticky with enough humidity that it’s effortless to pull the vapor out into the palm of his hand. Unfortunately, they’ve both lost at least half a pint of blood to the swarm of killer mosquitoes biting every available piece of skin they have.

Bug spray would be a small blessing, right now. He’s going to buy an entire case of bug bands at the first Walmart he sees. They deserve a nice home on his wrist and in his ready pack. The sheer lack of them on his person at the moment is an affront to the gods.

Next to him, Nico seems to be reevaluating every decision that led him to wading through corn at three-fifty-five in the morning, dressed entirely in black with his arms exposed. He looks wary, tense, like he's three shades closer than he _already_ was to looking like death. Mosquitoes must not care about blood quality, because Nico’s being eaten alive.

Percy probably could have waited to do this till tomorrow, at a semi-decent hour that would have given them both more than a couple of hours sleep, and more sunlight, therefore fewer vampire bugs. “We’re almost there,” He says, because there’s no going back, so they might as well focus on the positives. “Just another mile.”

“That’s great, and where exactly is there?” Nico asks, deciding he’s had enough of getting whacked in the face by corn stalks, and drawing his sword. In the darkness, the stygian iron blends in almost perfectly. Little more than a flash of reflected light on the handle. He starts hacking without a second thought.

While Nico’s way is definitely faster, Percy feels a little guilty for destroying someone’s crop so early in the season. But, it’s not like trampling the stalks hurts the corn any less, so he might as well follow Nico’s lead, and not get cut up but surprisingly sharp leaves.

“An abandoned car lot I found last April,” Percy says, breezily, pulling out his own sword and uncapping it. Despite Riptide’s inability to affect mortals, the celestial bronze has no problem with vegetation. It triples as a sword, a pen, and a weed wacker. “As long as no one’s found it, the car I left should still be there.”

During his time on the run, Percy had amassed an _extensive_ grand theft auto record. He’s not proud of it, but he’d been lost and desperate so he just tries not to think of all the cars he jacked. Luckily, he’s become great at compartmentalizing, and steadfastly refusing to acknowledge whole chunks of his life. It happened. That’s it. Most of the owners got their cars back, the ones who didn’t….well, the insurance paid for the damages.

Besides, this trip will be a whole lot more pleasant for everyone if Nico doesn’t have to woosh them from place to place. Shadow travel requires a lot of energy. It always leaves Nico looking shaky and pale, ill in a way that’s not quite motion sickness, but close enough that it might as well be. The effects last for days, and that’s without a passenger.

“Can’t they tell if a car’s stolen from it’s plates?” Percy can’t tell if Nico’s honestly asking, because he’s from the forties and doesn’t know how these things work, or if he just wants Percy to hear his own stupidity.

Probably both, he decides.

“This one isn’t stolen,” Percy huffs indigently. “I won it in a game of cards, title, and everything. It’s mine, I just haven’t had the chance to come get it yet.

“Yeah, right” Nico snorts, “You ‘won’ it.”

“Believe it or not.” Percy heaves a sign and swings Riptide, brutally cutting down ten whole children of the corn. “But, I don’t just play blackjack, I cheat.”

“Careful, if the Aphrodite kids hear that you’ll break their hearts. Everyone knows that heroes never manipulate anyone.”

“Please,” Percy laughs. “I lived in the Hermes’ cabin for weeks. If I hadn’t already known how to count cards, I would have learned there. Or had most of my stuff liquidating in gambling debts against the chore chart.”

“I never learned how to cheat,” Nico grumbles grimly, stumbling forward a bit as the spacing between stalks starts to expand. They're closer to the property line.

“That’s because Luke had already left. He took most of the cabin with him, and the ones who stayed weren’t the same.”

They still aren’t. Connor and Travis don’t smile as much, or laugh as loud. When they lost Luke, who actually was their older brother, they lost a piece of themselves. Sometimes, Percy wonders if secretly they blame him, too. For not being able to save Luke and bring him home. It would explain why they go out of their way not to be alone in the same room as him.

In an attempt to break the awkward silence that settles over them, Nico asks, “What were you doing all the way out here in Illinois, isn’t the Wolf House in northern California?”

Percy closes his eyes. It’s not that he doesn’t like to talk about what happened when he had amnesia. For the most part, he’d been fine. Nothing overtly traumatic happened. The memories are just...grainy. Hard to focus on, like a video of a video. Dim and overshadowed by the sheer volume of what came after. Percy doesn't remember anything like he’s supposed to. His feelings are the only thing he has that’s concrete. Sure, he has all his memories now, but when they were returned to him, they were shuffled. Small details got lost in the mix, things like names, places, dates.

Trying to remember is frustrating at best and painful at worst. He can remember his third birthday in more detail than he can remember his sixteenth, even though it happened more recently. No matter how many times his mom tells him the name of the street they live on, he forgets it before she finishes talking. There’s a wall of snow between his ears and his brain, and sometimes, Percy worries, that the memories he does have will be swallowed up by it, so he gives up, before he pushes too hard and causes an avalanche.

“Running from monsters mostly,” Percy replies, capping Riptide and stowing it away back in his pocket, as they make it out of the field. If he never has to wade through corn taller than his head for the rest of his life, it’ll be too soon. Nico’s a little farther behind him, so Percy continues as he waits for Nico to catch up. “Lupa doesn’t give great directions. She just told me to head south and sent me on my way without telling me where south was, or giving me a compass. I got lost...a lot.”

“You think?” Nico trips going forward, his ankle getting stuck behind a cluster of stalks. Percy catches him by the scruff before he hits the ground.

The lot they’ve finally made it to is tiny, with a floor that was probably once dirt, but is now mostly grass. Most importantly, though, is that Percy’s car is still here, covered in dust and fallen leaves and a year's worth of grime. Hopefully, the fuel tank hasn’t rotted, it would be a pain in the ass to replace. He doubts it has, though, because gasoline is a liquid- _ishZ_ , and he has a general awareness of it, if he really concentrates. Everything feels fine, but then again, he has no frame of reference.

The car is more accurately a minivan, that at one point was white, but is now a reddish, brownish color. The body’s mostly intact, rusted only along the button of the back doors. It could be a lot worse after a full year without maintenance, the seats are material, not leather, so they shouldn’t have been affected. But, they’re definitely going to smell weird.

They stop five paces in front of it, Nico hanging back like a frightened shadow. Kneeling down, Percy starts shifting the debris until he finds a small rock, one he’d left behind intentionally because it looks like a dog if squint, and amnesia-ed him thought it would be a good marker to leave over the keys he buried.. He tosses the rock over his shoulder, and digs his nails into the dirt. Lifting fistful after fistful until his finger catches against something cold and sharp. The keys have seen better days, but that’s nothing he can’t fix by running under a stream of water.

“Come on,” he says to Nico, standing up and brushing his pants off. “There’s a gas can in the back, so we should have a couple hours worth of driving before we have to stop and fill up the tank.”

Walking forward, Percy wipes his hands over the driver's side window, shuttering as the dust clings to his fingers. Once he’s finished with his side he moves onto the rearview ones, nodding for Nico to get started on his. He’s clearly reluctant to stick his hand in a year's worth of grime, but a _look_ from Percy is enough to get him started.

“You’re going to have to stop at a car wash or something,” Nico says, holding up his hand for inspection. “This thing’s disgusting.”

* * *

Because his luck has, and always will be, awful, he’s half expecting it when, not even twenty-four hours later, they’re stopped at a gas station, Percy trying his best wash off some of the grim—at this point, it might as well be part of paint job—when a flash of glittering, back scales catches against the window. The reflection is only there for a split second, but it’s enough.

Drawing his sword, Percy goes to investigate. Creeping forward, careful to keep his footsteps light and silent. Riptide has a bad habit of appearing like a metal bat or a gun, to a mortal, so he’ll have to finish this quickly. Before some helpful citizen decides to call the cops on a robber sneaking behind the back of a _Stop and Go_. He’s just waiting for the day when he gets pulled over, and an officer asks if he has a gun license for his sword.

Two children of the big three traveling together, are bound to draw attention. It’s practically the law. What’s surprising is the complete and utter lack of interest this monster seems to have in either of them. They’ve been here for half an hour, plenty of time for it to have attacked them, especially since Nico got tired of the unused car smell twenty minutes ago, and decided to find them some breakfast. Splitting them up, and making them perfect monster bait.

But, no. Percy hadn’t heard so much as a growl. He takes the chance to check on Nico through the window. He’s in line at the cash register, looking like he half expects the cashier to lean over the counter and rip out his throat. Which, yeah, monsters have a nasty habit of disguising themselves as minimum wage workers, but this one’s safe. No monster can emulate the sheer amount of apathy a retail worker has for their job. The same way they can’t emulate the burning hatred of food service workers. Tartarus just doesn’t match the hell that is customer service.

Percy’s glad Nico is distracted, he’d feel really bad about dragging him into a fight, hours after he dragged him out of bed, through a cornfield, and miles of endless country roads filled with even more corn and the occasional Jesus billboard.

Carefully, Percy turns the corner, checking over his shoulder to make sure no one’s decision to follow him. While well-meaning, mortals have a nasty habit of going to investigate and then getting in the way of a threat they can’t even see.

He comes face to face with a sleeping Hydra, curled tightly around a powerline. It would look cute, if it wasn’t at least three stories tall and covered in jagged spiky horns. He’s confident it’s fairly young, it only has three heads and its wings are still translucent.

A baby, who can’t even fly yet. Monsters are hard to imagine as anything other than horrific and terrifying. This hydra is the first infant he’s seen, they usually don’t leave Tartarus until adolescents. He almost feels guilty over having to kill it. Until he notices the dark black puddle under its feet, stained red at the edges and brown toward the center.

Monsters like this one don’t have a conscience, they eat because they’re hungry, and they don’t care what it is. A demi-god, a dog, a mortal, it doesn’t matter as long as they’re full. Based on the flannel sticking out of the left head's jaw, their last meal was human.

Baby hydra doesn’t wake up as Percy closes in. It stays asleep, breath hitching only once as he steps over its front paws. Riptide slides threw the nick in its armor like butter, fast and efficient. It screams once, loud and pained as it dissolves into powered, gold dust. In the hydra’s place is a single fang. Anticlimactic fights, apparently, leave behind anticlimactic trophies.

Still, he doesn’t hesitate to pocket it. A hydra fang is still a hydra fang. They make amazing spell ingredients. And, while Percy has no use for them, they go for an incredibly high price from the people that do. Maybe Carter could use one? It’s worth asking the next time he sees him.

When he turns around, to head back to the gas station and finish filling up his tank, Nico is there. Standing partially stunned, the way everyone does when they can't decide to be amazed or horrified. “I got you jelly beans, but considering you just went after a hydra without backup, I’m not sure you deserve them.”

“Of course I do,” Percy says, jogging to close the distance between them. “I just slayed a hydra _without_ waking it up. That takes skill.”

“Please,” Nico snorts, holding the bag of snacks up. He movies it the second Percy goes to reach for it, keeping it just out of reach. “It was barely more than a hatchling.”

Nico looks washed out in the morning light. Like something drained all the color from his skin. He's always been skinny, but he’s finally starting to look lean, instead of half-starved. Percy still wouldn’t feel comfortable with him skipping any meals. Though, that might be his own trauma talking and not Nico’s health.

“Exactly,” Percy agrees, smiling as he lunges after his prize. He fails, but that's okay. The game of keep away is fun, and Nico’s smiling, too. “I didn’t need backup. Besides, I killed one of these when I was thirteen, I knew what I was doing.”

Tauntingly, Nico shakes the bag. “Didn’t Clarisse kill it?”

“I—” Percy has to think about it. The memories of the hydra are so clear they feel five months old, not five years. He can remember everything about the monster, from the way it smelled to how it almost killed them, but— “Maybe. I don’t...remember the fight, just the monster. I have no clue how it ended. I just assumed, because I’m still alive and all...”

“Oh,” Nico says, shutting off like someone flipped a switch.

Percy doesn’t like that. He wants happy Nico back. “Don’t worry about it. After Hera messed with my head, some stuff got shuffled around. It’s no big deal.”

“That sounds like the definition of a big deal,” Nico says, shaking his head and tossing the bag of candy at Percy's face.

“It’s really not, what is a big deal is how deadly your aim is. I think you just took out my eye with the corner of the wrapper.”

* * *

Later, long after they’ve left the gas station, and put miles and miles between them and where the hydra had been, Percy pulls over in the lot of a Walmart, handing Nico his wallet and a list scribbled on the back of a Stop and Go receipt.  
Nico makes a face at having to run _errands_ , but Percy points out that he’s going to be ripping the back seats out of the car, and he’s happy to switch jobs with Nico if he wants to do that instead of getting sleeping bags and food.

At the top of the list, underlined in big, bold strokes are bug bands.

* * *

Two days after they’ve left the gas station and three days after they left camp, Nico asks where they’re going. Which is a fair question, and Percy’s honestly surprised he hadn’t asked sooner considering the fact that they’ve been driving straight without stopping for longer than a few hours to sleep curled up in the back. Not touching, but close enough where they could if one of them reached out.

The thing is, Percy doesn’t have a plan. He doesn’t know what he’s doing or where they’re headed, even though he should. But the where didn’t seem important.

He just wants to escape.

“I’m still figuring that part out.”

* * *

“Look at this,” Nico says, pushing the newspaper he nicked from the counter across to Percy.

They’re somewhere in Kansas, close to Lebanon, but still far enough away to be in a town the size of ten houses, a diner, and a church. Currently, they’re at the dinner, which serves amazing breakfast for being part of the twilight zone.

The newspaper in front of him is a local one, not from this town, but a collection of a couple of neighboring ones. Percy’s not sure what Nico’s trying to show him. ”I’m looking?”

“The picture in the corner,” Nico says, pointing with his fork and nodding his head. “Look familiar to you?”

He takes a minute to actually look this time, skimming the page until his eyes settle on the grainy image in the far, right corner. He flips it over as soon as he realizes what Nico’s talking about. “That looks like something that’s not our problem.”

“Really?” Nico asks, crossing his arms over his chest and _glaring_. “Because it looks like a cyclops, and I’m pretty sure that’s exactly our kind of problem.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Percy says, scattering the eggs that had been _so good_ a second ago around on his plate. “Just because it’s a cyclops doesn’t mean we have to get involved, he could just be making crop circles or something.”

Nico is less than impressed. He leans back in his chair, grabbing the paperback and taking a long drink from his coffee. “Yeah, or something, four girls have gone missing in the last week, and according to this, not only have they disappeared from the same bar, but our friend is the only non-local who’s been visiting it. The picture’s from the security feed.”

“Fine,” Percy says pushing in his chair as he gets up. “But, when this sucks ass, and it will, remember picking a fight with a monster that wasn’t bothering us, was your idea.”

* * *

The cyclops is terrorizing a town four hours away from where they are. The drive is long and filled with an endless sea of fields that stretch on to insanity. Maybe driving wouldn’t be so bad if there was something interesting to look at, or if they weren’t going _toward_ a monster, but they are and there isn’t, so Percy will just have to suffer through it.

With no small amount of glee, Percy turns the radio to the first country station he finds, and cranks up the volume. Nico looks horrified.

* * *

Monster hunts are notorious for having no quantifiable time frame, so they decide to get a room at the motel right off the interstate. While they might be in town for a week, they also might be stuck here for a month, and that would be _pushing it_ if they tried to park overnight in a grocery store lot.

They can do without the citations. Especially since the room is cheap. Only thirty bucks a night, and the girl at the counter doesn’t acknowledge the sword strapped to Nico’s hip. She looks dead on her feet, with a glassy-eyed stare that reminds Percy unnervingly of the wraiths from the Styx.

She’s not—a ghost—that is. He makes Nico check.

* * *

The first two days, they park in their car across from the bar, but nothing happens except for the cops being called on them. In retrospect, it’s not shocking that they’d come off as creepy stalkers, but it’s still shocking as fuck when Sherrif nocks on their window at two in the morning to ask what they’re doing.

Percy lets Nico handle it, because he’s better at manipulating the mist than he can ever dream of being. It only takes him five minutes to twist the man's memories, to make it seem like they’ve never been here, that the call that came in had just been the mistake of a drunk girl who’s overly paranoid. He leaves not long after that, blinking dazedly as he talks into his walkie.

Still, they don’t bother staking the place out again.

Instead, Nico sends him in with a remarkably real fake ID, that leaves Percy wondering just why he had this, and where he got it. Within a week he’s made friends with Nancy, the bartender who’s _extremely_ excited to have someone new to talk about her life with, but has come no closer to finding Mr. Cyclops.

* * *

“No,” Percy says, the moment he sees the JCPenny’s bag Nico drops on the bed. Peaking out of the bag is shiny blue fabric, and Percy instantly knows exactly what Nico bought when he went out. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Percy,” Nico starts, taking out the dress and laying it on the bed. Percy has to admit it’s pretty, made from a shiny blue fabric with a deep v cut into the neck. It’s the kind of thing they sell in the special occasion section, for proms and birthdays and whatever else. “We haven’t gotten anywhere in the last two weeks, we need a new strategy.”

He understands what Nico’s saying, he does, and it's not that he has anything against crossdressing per se it’s just—“I can’t fight in heels. Why can’t you be the one to wear this?”

“You have better legs.”

* * *

Because Zeus is a dick, and Hera’s a bitch, and everyone else—except for Hestia, she’s precious—are a bunch douchebags, Nico’s plan, which put him in five-inch stilettos, a wig, and a short as hell dress, works _too_ well.

He’s sitting a booth, toward the back corner of the bar just hidden enough for Percy to slide Nico his drink and steal his coke instead without anyone raising an eyebrow—he’s of the firm belief that if Nico’s old enough to fight two wars, he’s old enough to decide if he wants a beer—when he feels a hand grab his shoulder.

It’s a strange experience, to have someone just invade your space uninvited. Especially since this is the first time something like this has happened. Percy knows he’s intimidating, and no one had made a move toward him when Nico was hanging around. It makes him angry. Clearly, this cyclops only targets who he thinks are vulnerable.

Percy’s going to enjoy killing this monster.

The grip on his arm is bruising, and Percy lets himself be pulled up. Consciously making himself pliant. Nico catches his eye from the counter, where he’d gone to get another drink. He reaches down toward his sword, and Percy shakes his head.

_Not yet._

Silently, Nico creeps forward. Percy wants to tell him he looks suspicious as all hell, but he doesn’t have the chance to. The cyclops notices Nico either way, throwing Percy back into a table. It feels like his arm’s been ripped out of its socket.

Ouch.

Around them, people scream, and start running, which is smart. Percy wishes he had half the common sense they do. But, he doesn’t, instead, what he does do is uncap Riptide and throw himself forward.

Together, he and Nico make quick work of the monster. Alone they’re scary strong, together they’re terrifying. One cyclops hadn’t stood a chance.

Still, though, they’re pretty beaten up. Percy has to lean heavily into Nico’s side. A broken bottle had cut heavily into his chest, and he’s lost a lot of blood. Not enough to kill, but enough to make him woozy.

* * *

Percy’s pretty sure he blacked out somewhere between driving to the motel and getting in his bed. He thinks he’d remember taking off his shirt. It would certainly hurt enough, but he doesn’t. He’s not really aware of his surroundings at the moment. Not beyond the fact that Nico’s behind him, pulling a roll of badges tight around his chest.

Maybe it’s just his memory acting up again. It wouldn’t be surprising, inconvenient, and incredibly dangerous, yes, but not surprising.

“It’s still the same,” He murmurs, barely more than a whisper. As he says the words, he feels Nico freeze, hands braced against his back. “It’s not going to end, is it?”

“No,” Nico answers honestly, but not unkindly. “It isn’t.”

“That’s why we don’t fit in, right? Why Camp feels so weird? Everyone else is done and we’re not.”

Part of him already knows the answer. It’s the part that he’s tried desperately to run away from by clinging to his mortal life, to his mom, to the normal world. It’s the part that screams loud and long that heroes don’t get to be normal. They don’t get to be done.

Nico doesn’t answer, but his silence is telling enough. Percy feels his heart break, just a little bit.

“Where do you want to go?” Nico asks, a few minutes later, after he’s finished cleaning up Percy’s wounds and moved on to his own.

“I don’t know,” Percy says. He knows doesn’t if he even wants to keep going, let alone where to. For now, though, he has Nico with him, and that counts for _something_. “But, I’ll figure it out.”

**Author's Note:**

> I have a lot of feelings about how I think Luke affected Percy's view on Demi-god life, as well as the fact that Camp Half-blood is fucking Narnia, and Chiron's a less vague Aslan.


End file.
